


Child of the Storm

by summoner_yuna_of_besaid



Series: Dragon Age Codexes [9]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Backstory, Canon Character of Color, Female Character of Color, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 22:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4196718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summoner_yuna_of_besaid/pseuds/summoner_yuna_of_besaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The beginning of the life of Vivienne de Fer, growing up with her grandmother on the rocky shores of Wycombe.</p><p>Diverges from canon; my own interpretation of Vivienne's backstory which includes more history and development than "she lived in the circle".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Child of the Storm

She closes her eyes, and remembers.

* * *

 

A little barefoot girl with wild hair stands in the damp air, her grandmother calls out to her in a tongue she barely speaks. The only word she understands is 'Vivi', but the tone is telling enough. She tucks her tongue back in her mouth and darts into the cramped one room hovel. Grandmother is at the fire, and in an instant has Vivienne removing her sodden clothing, berating her for tempting the Gods so brazenly. In time she's redressed, warm but for her feet which stick out beneath the blanket on the end of her too-long legs.

She watches as her grandmother stokes the fire back to life with a gentle wave of her hand. "You aren't supposed to do that." She says innocently, wide eyed.

"And why not?" The old woman chuckles.

"Cause mages are supposed to live in the tower, cause its not safe."

"Oh, posh." Her grandmother shakes her head. "That's for young folk. Old ladies like me don't need Circles or Towers."

That makes sense to her. With childlike innocence, Vivienne immediately forgets the topic and moves on to asking for dinner. It appears before her, meager, thin, but it is something. More than once she has gone without, and she knows better than to complain.

* * *

Day after day, Vivienne trails after her grandmother's coattails through Wycombe's city streets. The further they go, the more they change. Grey sooted dusted, crumbling dirt roads transform into perfectly manicured lawns and cobblestone streets. Cramped, crowded apartments and hovels stacked on one another in the darkness, into enormous mansions with pristine paint, adorned with silver and gold. Grandmother works in the mansions, and Vivienne helps. She fetches laundry, carries trays of dirty dishes, mops floors. When there is nothing to do but wait, she stays near her grandmother and watches the family around her. They move as if she and grandmother do not exist. Their eyes pass over them, their feet walk around them. Vivienne feels invisible, and it stings sharp like needlepricks under the skin. The family has two children, both girls, dressed to the nines in soft silks and the latest fashions. Everyone sees them. Everyone loves them. A lump lodges in her throat.

Every day, they leave the mansions and return to those dirt covered streets, and Vivienne walks backward just to watch the beauty of it as long as possible before it fades away.

* * *

 

"Why don't we have a mansion, grandmother?"

"Oh, we do." Grandmother insists with a chuckle. Vivienne frowns. She sits cross legged on the floor until her caretaker corrects her unladylike behavior.

"Really?"

"Of course - it's back home."

"In Rivain?" Grandmother nods. "Will you tell me the story again?"

The old woman knows just the one she means. "We were a powerful family, my sweet. In Rivain, the people are one, the people are a family. Our family took care of the people, in -"

"Llomeryn!"

She cocks an eyebrow, as if to ask if the girl wants to tell the story. She flushes and falls quiet, but grips her roughed up knees tightly in excitement. "Yes, in Llomeryn," She says. "We lived well there, but everyone in Rivain lives decent enough. Your mother was," She says a word, thick and potent, "that is the Seer, the leader of the city. Your father was from the Dalish clan there, one of the elves, who interceded with the Seer for his people. And soon enough, they fell in love."

"When you were just a little girl, we all decided to make the trip to the Arlathvhen, the great meeting of the elves. That year it was held in the Emerald Graves, so we took ship, and began the trip south."

"But there was a storm," Vivienne intercedes again, with a somber tone. Grandmother nods slowly.

"Yes, there was a storm. Our ship was torn asunder and it was all I could do to hold you above water. By the Gods will, we survived, and washed up here in Wycombe. But your parents, and all they owned in the world, were lost forever."

"Now we're stuck here." The girl pouted. "I want to see Rivain."

"I know, my dear, I know." The old woman knelt on the floor despite the hurt to her knees, pulling the child to her breast. "And you will, very soon. We've almost saved enough, and then we'll go home and never leave it again!"

* * *

Grandmother loses her job. They spread themselves thin over the next months. She finds a new place to work. In the spring, it rains horribly and the roof collapses. Vivienne still looks at the stormy sky with some reverence, tinged with anger and jealousy. Someone breaks in and takes money but thankfully ignores the old box with the handful of Grandmother's things from their old life in Rivain. That night, Vivienne lies awake pretending to sleep but unable to through the thick knot of pain in her chest as she listens to Grandmother behind her on the mat, sobbing.

Years pass, and in Wycombe they remain.

* * *

When Vivienne is eight, she catches lightning in her hands.

She'd been playing down in the market, the dirty, low city square where the penniless and the put-upon struggled to survive. There were plenty of people, and yet Vivienne never feared them.  Here, at least, she was safe, according to Grandmother, who told her not to worry about such things. Just stay in the square and on the lit streets for me, sweetie.

Sometimes, she does, but she can not help but expand her playground from time to time. She wanders further into the dark, into the rubble and ruin beneath the city, until it touches the dark and angry sea. She stands on thin sandals upon the rocky shore and stares at it. In the distance, a storm lights up the sky, and she remembers the story. Imagines a little ship out in that madness, struggling to survive just like everyone here in the darkness below the city. But the people in the mansions, the people above, never seem to struggle for anything.

Fury catches fire in her veins and without thought, she screams at the sky. Screams and throws her arms up and suddenly the sky is hers to command. She sees it before she hears it, a bright echoing flash followed by a tumultous boom. Eyes wide, she stares at her open palm, where the light dances without hurting her. Her gaze darts to the storm in the distance. Furious, she roars and tosses it away. The light doesn't reach it, but she feels satisfied anyway.

The scrape of a boot upon stone. Horror flies up her spine as Vivienne turns. Someone saw her.

* * *

Grandmother packs up their little hovel that night. A thousand times, Vivienne asks where they are going, but Grandmother purses her lips and shakes her head. "I had hoped..." She keeps saying, "I had hoped... but it's too late now." By midnight their entire lives are packed into the back of a cheap rickety wagon, and they are on their way out of Wycombe.

"When will we come back, Grandma?" The little girl, hidden inside the wagon, peeks out from behind the curtain to her caretaker. The elder says nothing, confirming the girl's fears. She spins and peaks out the opposite end of the cart, where the dirty streets of Wycombe are vanishing into the distance. She never thought she'd miss it, but the town is barely out of sight and the loss aches in her chest.

* * *

They arrive in Ostwick so much later Vivienne cannot count the time. She is weary, and sick of carts, the horrid juxtaposition of being constantly in motion and unable to move at all. She sits, squished between boxes and crates until they make it through the city gate.

They stop; Grandmother calls her out, and she happily hops out of the cart, expecting a town much like her old home. What she sees is more like the mansions; standing in the clear sun, bright and beautiful, a grand tower extending into the sky. Soldiers in glitterin armor approach her, so bright it blinds her and she flinches away.

"Grandmother?" The woman grabs her hand. Her own hands are shaking. Vivienne looks up to the weak smile on her grandmother's face.

"This is your new home, sweetie," She says. Then she passes her little hand to the soldier in silver, and they never touch again.

* * *

The soldiers in silver walk her through an archway, into a walled off courtyard filled with people. Some of them are in armor; some in robes. They all tower over her, and she stares up in equal parts fascinated and terrified. Into the tower they go, to an older brown skinned woman in long blue robes with a soft smile. She seems warm, kind. Vivienne tries to hold her head up and ignore the panic tickling her lungs.

"Hello, Vivienne." The woman kneels to the girl's level. "I have heard you have magic."

"I guess." She shrugs, eyes averted. "I didn't mean to."

"It's not a bad thing." Something in the room shifts. One of the soldiers clears his throat, but the woman seems to ignore him. "In fact, it can be a wonderful thing."

She turns her gaze back. "Where's my grandmother?"

The mage's eyes darken, but she only stands and gestures for Vivienne to follow.

* * *

The Grand Enchanter of Ostwick is a Nevarran woman by the name of Agatha. She shows Vivienne where she will be sleeping, eating, studying, and praying. Those are the things which will comprise her life for a long time. She aches to ask questions, but is too afraid. Eventually she is taken back to the dorm where she will sleep, shared with ten other children her age. Since it is her first day, she is given some leeway to take her time and unpack her things. As soon as she is alone, Vivienne breaks into tears.

A small bag was all she was allowed; there is not much. A few coins, perhaps all her Grandmother had saved up until then. She doesn't know, she can't tell if it's a lot or not. There's a scroll too, wrapped up and tied in a bow. A pair of her father's leather gloves, tailored in the Dalish style, a pair of sandals, some changes of clothes and toiletries, and a thin blanket. The girl takes the scroll from the bag, and the moment she touches it, the parchment flares to life.

With a gasp, Vivienne draws her hand away. The paper flies into the air, unfolding itself, filling the room with light. Something falls from its pages; then, it grows, shifts, changes shape, until a long shaft of carved and blackened wood falls into Vivienne's outstretched hands.

The room is suddenly bustling with activity and noise. Soldiers burst in, they grab her, wrench the staff from her, she cries not knowing why, snatching for it. When it is out of reach she starts screaming, tears burning her eyes as she kicks and fights them. A warmer pair of hands, sans armor, takes hold of her, and she calms briefly. Breathing hard, Vivienne meets Grand Enchanter Agatha's eyes.

The rest is a blur. Tests are done, her things refiled through and examined without question. They even mention strip searching her until a loud enough opposition is voiced to the idea. Clearly, it is decided, the act was not done by the girl but someone else, and was restricted to revealing the staff. None of them seem to see the parchment the staff came from. They lay on the floor, stepped upon and stepped over, innocuous. Vivienne says nothing.

They leave, and the Enchanter takes the staff with her. The soldiers - Templars, Vivienne remembers - had wanted it destroyed, but Agatha stood firm. Left alone, Vivienne wipes at raw, red eyes, and crawls to the paper, trembling hands lifting it off the ground.

 _No distance can keep us apart, sweetie._ The words are written in her Grandmother's beautiful hand. Vivienne almost starts crying again. _Whenever you need me, you'll find me in these pages.  Write on them as if you're talking to me and I will write back._

_The staff was your mother's. I'm sure you'll be as great as she ever was, and more._

Vivienne wishes more than ever the staff was still with her. Her fragmented memory brings to mind the smooth black surface, the curved end holding a small opal, the twisted pommel ending in a similar curved design. Her mother's. She is a mage, like her mother.

She remembers the storm, the day on the beach, catching lightning. So much of her life has been defined by struggling to survive, like a ship trapped in the raging ocean, tormented by the stormy skies. That will not be Vivienne's life, no. She will not be the little ship tormented. She will be the roaring, writhing ocean. She will be the storm.

 

 


End file.
